#dean x reader insert

“Go on, Jack,” said Sam, nudging him forward. He swallowed as he took a step, frowning as he looked at you.

“I’m sorry,” said Jack.

“For...” said Cas behind him.

“I’m sorry I accidentally destroyed your hunting journal,” said Jack.

“Go to your room, Jack,” you said. He paused a beat before he trudged past you. You crossed your arms once he was gone, walking over to the table to see the ruined mess that was the journal you’d had for years and years.

“We can fix it,” said Dean. “Parts of it.”

“It’s not the journal. It is but it isn’t. You three...yes Jack looks like a young man and he sometimes acts like one. But there is a lot of crap he doesn’t understand and I can’t always be bad cop, guys. He needs consistency.”

“He’s not exactly a little kid,” said Sam.

“No but he’s not grown either. I need help. Take this seriously, guys,” you said. You left the war room and headed down the hall to Jack’s room, knocking on the door before you entered. “Hey Jack.”

“Hi,” he said.

“I know it was an accident and you didn’t mean to spill your drink on my journal. But you did choose to try and hide that fact instead of trying to correct it. That’s why you’re in trouble. Do you understand, Jack?” you asked.

“I do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to hide things from me, okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. You can go clean the library to make it up to me,” you said. He nodded and took off, Dean popping around the corner in the hall. “Yes?”

“You may have a point. Our parenting skills could use some work,” said Dean.

“He’s only three,” you said.

“I know. We’ll be better about trying to teach him the right way to do things, even if we don’t follow that advice so well ourselves,” he said.

“It’s all I ask for,” you said, getting a peck on the cheek from him. “Alright, alright, you’re off the hook.”

“Love you sweetheart.”

Ok My Lovelies, This is the first time I’ve had to write in ages. So I quickly smashed out an Imagine as I get back into the swing of it. Hopefully it’s not too terrible. I was all set to do some writing today, but work have called and left a desperate plea for me to work. Someone stop me from feeling obligated to say yes so I can write. Please... Enjoy My Lovelies. Bec xx

A soft groan left your lips as you pulled on your jacket. Tonight had been the shift from hell. More bar fights than a fight club scene. More drunken jerks hitting on you than normal. And then there was the man who had fallen and managed to knock himself unconscious and choke on his own vomit… You glanced down at your jeans and sighed. You weren’t even going there. These jeans were being tossed, and your skin was going to red raw by the time you had scrubbed that mess from your body.

‘You did good tonight,’ your boss smiled sleepily. ‘Go get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Might be sick tomorrow,’ you offered with a fake cough.

‘Too late, I already called dibs on that,’ Amy laughed as she walked pass. ‘Sorry, Mack, I can’t do a repeat of tonight. I swear I’m going home to ice my arse.’

Mack apologise profusely once more, the poor guy had been run off his feet trying to break up fights and throw people out. He’d jumped to yours and Amy’s defence on more than one occasion and had a possible fracture to his knuckle to show for it.

‘I’m talking to the local security joint. I’m thinking we need a bouncer.’

‘We need something,’ you grumbled as you grabbed your bag. You waved goodbye and headed towards the door, glancing back at the tables to making sure you had cleaned them all up before heading out.

Pushing the door open heavily as she stepped into fresh air, you let your eyes close as you Inhale deeply as you try to erase the smell of alcohol and cigarettes from your senses. You open them to find yourself relaxing more than you have all week. A smile played on your lips as you look at the man that stood before you. His legs crossed as he rested against the hood of his car.

‘Rough night,’ he mused gruffly as he waited for you to approach. You nodded as you stepped up beside him. Your mind and body coming to life, reminding you of just how badly you needed him. Of how it had been too long since you last caught up.

‘That roundhouse to the guy that tried to stop your CPR was pretty impressive.’

‘You were there?’ you gasped, your foot shifting as you moved to step back. Dean was a dead man. You couldn’t believe the bastard had been there the whole time and not stepped in. His arm flew out catching you around the waist pulling you in tight against him as he softly kissed your lips.

‘I believe the deal was if I wanted you as my girl, I wasn’t to interfere with your job again. You guys had it under control.’

‘Didn’t feel like it,’ you muttered as you snuggled against his chest, his arms wrapping you in leather.

‘Trust me, you did. And that’s all that saved a couple of them tonight. I would have broken my promise otherwise.’

You lifted your head and smiled at the man in front of you, leaning against his fingers as he brushed the hair from your eyes.

‘Not that I’m complaining, but shouldn’t you be on your way to Utah?’

‘Ah, thought we’d stop by on the way.’

‘I’m 300miles out of the way,’ you chuckle.

‘I missed you,’ he mumbled, his cheeks flushing in the streetlight.

‘Feeling’s mutual,’ you smile, as you push up onto your toes kissing him deeply.

His arm tightens as he takes your weight holding you there longer, ‘Come with us,’ he breathed against your lips. ‘I know you wanted out, but this ain’t any safer.’

‘Depends, do I get this every day?’ you grin, kissing him again.

‘Oh Sweetheart, this is just the start of what I will give you every day,’ he smirked as he kissed you quickly before setting you back down on the ground. ‘Come home, and I will demonstrate, again…’ he mumbled as he kissed your lips, ‘and again,’ he breathed as his lips trailed along your jaw, ‘and again,’ he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows as his lips moved across your neck.

‘I’m holding you to that,’ you breathed.

Dean stood up kissing you briefly once more, before gesturing to the car. ‘I haven’t let you down yet.’

You grin as he opened the passenger’s door. He certainly hadn’t.

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colt perked up at the endearment, another set of sparkling jade green eyes staring at you. you swore colt was a carbon copy of dean, a spitting image of his father. from the blond hair and heaps of freckles to the shining green eyes and give ‘em hell attitude. you didn’t see any of yourself in your son, just dean. 

colt reached out for you, “mama!” he squealed in his father’s ear, dean jerking his head away. you pushed off of the frame and made your way over where dean was standing. you took colt into your arms and he gave you a wet kiss on your cheek. dean chuckled and mocked colt, his lips brushing against your cheek. “everything’s almost finished,” dean turned back to the fruit he'd been putting in a bowl. 

reaching around him, you popped a grape in your mouth. “okay,” you muttered around the grape you’d been chewing. “you mind taking some of this stuff out into the living room?” dean asked and you nodded in response. “mama, can i help?” you smiled, “of course, pea.” setting him down, you handed him the bowl of popcorn before you grabbed dean’s pizza and the bag of candy. 

you followed colt into the living room and began placing the items on the coffee table. dean entered the room a minute later with plates in one hand, a beer and juice tucked under one arm, and the bowl of fruit in the other hand. you were trying to get everything settled on the table before dean was forcing you to sit on the couch while he finished. once he finished, dean was taking a seat next to you before colt dived into his lap. he pulled you in close and the three of you were cuddled up on the couch as you cued up netflix in search of a movie. 

your mind was racing a million miles a minute. you were worried about your appearance. why wasn’t it working? what were you doing wrong? when had you lost your confidence in yourself? did dean notice your body had changed? if he did, how did he feel, what would he do?

you weren’t even ten minutes into all dogs go to heaven before dean sighed, pressing pause on the remote, “alright, sweetheart. what’s going on in that head of yours?” he did his best to turn and face you. colt already asleep on dean’s chest, his fist balled up in dean’s shirt as little snores passed through his lips. glancing at dean, you shook your head before reaching for the remote. dean tutted, swiping the remote before you could get your hand on it. 

quirking a brow, “come on, sweetheart, you haven’t been acting like yourself. and don’t think that i didn’t notice that you were crying when you came into the kitchen earlier. talk to me.” dean pleaded, his eyes searching yours. his features softening when he noticed the tears welling up in your eyes. you reached up and wiped away the few tears that escaped and sighed. “i just, i don’t feel,” you paused, looking for the right word. “pretty,” you whispered. 

“i never had an issue with the way i looked when i was pregnant with colt, my body began to change and i was self conscious. after he was born, i was able to lose the weight and get back in shape. now, i’ve gained like ten pounds and no matter what i do, i can’t lose it. i feel so ugly.” you sobbed, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. 

dean was silent beside you, he definitely hadn’t expected you to say anything along those lines. you were pretty, you were more than pretty. in his eyes you were a goddess, you radiated beauty and it wasn’t just exterior. something about you made other people feel good about themselves, you were so sweet and kind. dean’s heart shattered as he watched you break down in front of him. you were always the strong one, he’s never, ever seen you cry like this before. he’s seen a few tears escape those sparkling eyes of yours and you’d quickly wipe them away, take a deep breath, smile, and say “i’m okay.” or you’d be crying happily over something, but he’s never seen you so devastated before.

“sweetheart,” dean started, his eyes welling up with tears as he tugged you towards him. it hurt him to see you cry like this. dean pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his unoccupied shoulder. you sobbed into his shoulder, your hand clutching his shirt for dear life. his hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, blinking back his tears, dean held on to you tightly as you cried.

a few minutes later, you started to calm down. “sweetheart?” dean muttered. you sniffled in response. dean placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “you’re not ugly. you are so far from it, i think you’re beautiful. hell, you’re the most gorgeous woman to ever walk this earth.” 

you scoffed, “you’re just saying that because you have to.” dean slipped his finger underneath your chin to make you look up at him. your bloodshot eyes locking with his emerald orbs, shining with unshed tears. 

he shook his head, “no, sweetheart, i mean it. it doesn’t matter to me if you’ve gained ten or a hundred pounds. you’re the love of my life, baby. i’m yours forever, unless i happen to run into daisy duke one day, then you’re on your own.” the sound that you made caused dean’s heart to skip a beat. you laughed, not a chuckle or a giggle, an actual laugh. and, god, he’d do anything to hear it again. 

he sighed, “i’m sorry if i made you feel like you weren’t pretty anymore. i’m so fuckin’ sorry, sweetheart.” you shook your head, “dean, it wasn’t you. i’ve been feeling this way since the waitress was flirting with you a few weeks ago and i got self conscious, i mean she was prettier and a little younger. i thought, you found her more attractive and i don’t know.” dean gave your arm a light squeeze. 

“nah, nobody even comes close to my awesome wife,” dean grinned. “i thought you were leaving me for daisy duke, if you had the chance.” 

dean tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “honey,” dean paused, a soft smile on his face. “not even daisy duke can compare to you. even in baby food stained sweatpants, with your messy hair, and tear stained cheeks. you’re gorgeous even on your worst day.” you leaned over and pressed your lips to dean’s, the feeling of butterflies fluttering in your stomach as his lips moved against yours. you never understood how after what felt like a lifetime how this man could still make you feel like you were a teenager around their crush, you’ve been together since high school and have known each other even longer. his hand found its way to your neck, bringing you in closer, his thumb tracing your jaw bone. 

a giggle forced the two of you to break apart. “gross,” colt lifted his head from dean’s shoulder and smiled sleepily at the two of you. “well, look who’s awake.” dean chuckled, ruffling colt’s messy hair. colt shook his head, “still sleepy?” colt nodded and reached out for you. taking him into your arms, you stood up from the couch. “you better meet me in our room in five minutes for more kisses, winchester.” dean pointed to you and you rolled your eyes. 

“how can i say no to an offer like that?” you grinned before heading up the stairs.

from that night on, would make sure you knew just how beautiful you were to him. he’d wait at the bottom of the steps for you with a kiss and a hug ‘for the pretty lady.’ he’d send flowers to your job with a note describing in detail just how pretty you looked before you left in the morning. during intimate moments, he’d take his time placing kisses on every spot and cherishing the place you hated on your body and before you fell asleep every night, he’d tell how gorgeous you were and two things he loved about you before you’d finally fall asleep.

currently, you were sitting at a table, your husband by your side, his hand holding yours tightly as you watched sam, colt, and jess on the dance floor. the newlyweds were dancing with your son, his giggles could be heard from where the two of you were sitting. you looked over at dean and he’d already been staring at you, a fond smile on his features. his let go of your hand and stood up, his hand coming back into your view as he held it out. you looked up at him, his head nodding towards the dance floor. 

“it’s only right if the best man and maid of honor get a dance in.” dean smirked.

graciously you accepted his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. dean pulled you to the dance floor as the song was starting to change. he moved through the crowd until he was next to sam, jess, and colt. “mama, daddy!” colt called, bouncing in sam’s arms as he caught sight of the two of you. “hey, buddy!” dean said, ruffling his hair, making him laugh. sam tried to pass colt off to you, but colt wasn’t having it, his hand gripped onto sam’s tux tightly. 

you laughed and shook your head at your son. dean turned to face you, placing his hand on the small of your back and tugging you closer to him. you placed one hand in his, the other resting on his shoulder. he started swaying to the music once the song changed. dean hummed along softly to the song, his green eyes searching every inch of your face as if he was committing it to memory. 

dean’s grip on you tightened as he began to sing along to the song. “and darling i will be lovin’ you ‘til we’re seventy. and, baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three.” he twirled you around and pulled you back in your back hitting his chest. he lowered his head, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder as he continued to sway you to the beat. “promise?” you could feel dean nodded against your cheek. “i’ll love you longer than that, sweetheart. cross my heart and hope to die,” you spun in his hold, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

dean smiled down at you, “have i told you how beautiful you look today?” he asked. “hm,” you tilted your head as if you were thinking about it, “yes, you have, about thirty times actually.” you both chuckled, dean shrugging. “it’s the truth, whether you gain one or a hundred pounds, or you could be wearing a garbage bag, and look like you haven’t slept in days and i’d still think you were the most beautiful woman in the world.” you leaned up and pressed a kiss to dean’s lips. dean smiled against your mouth, his hands pulling you in closer. 

you pulled away and peered into those enticing orbs of his and grinned. a loud squeal broke you out of your trance and you looked over, seeing sam and jess tickling colt. 

“look at those two kids we raised,” dean sighed, his eyes softening at the sight of sam and colt. “yeah, i still remember when sam was just a baby.” you muttered, resting your head on dean’s shoulder. he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

you remember helping dean care for sam when john would stay late at the garage. much like john, your parents weren’t around much, you’d only see them at dinner and for breakfast. for a while the three of you only had each other. the winchesters had become your family before you married dean. 

“i think we did great fuckin’ job with him.” you nodded against his shoulder, watching sam interact with colt. he’d been more excited than dean was when he found out he was going to be an uncle. “yeah, we did.” you smiled and dean rested his head against yours.

“do you ever think about having another kid?” dean bit his lip, nervous to hear your answer. you removed your head from his shoulder, your gaze falling on to his nervous stare. “how soon?” you asked and dean’s brow raised, “are you asking to sneak off for a quickie?” dean smirked and you rolled your eyes, “no, asshat,” dean chuckled, “how soon are you wanting another kid?” 

dean’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “how does nine months from now sound, gorgeous?” dean twirled you once more and quickly pulled you back into his chest, he was sporting a grin when you looked up at him. 

“is six months from now okay with you?” dean’s eyes widened. “wait,” he took a step back from you, giving you a once over, his eyes falling to your stomach. “you’re pregnant?” you nodded and dean gave a whoop of excitement, many heads turning in your directions. his arms wrapped around you tightly and he lifted you into the air, spinning you around, a giggle leaving you. 

dean placed you back on your feet and gave you a bruising, yet loving kiss. you pulled away with a laugh. “my god, you’re amazing.” you gave him a one-shouldered shrug, “you helped me get my confidence back and feel less insecure about myself, giving you another kid is the least i could do.” you joked and dean shook his head, a smile on his face.

“you should never feel insecure about the way you look, sweetheart. you’re beautiful, inside and out.” you were about to respond to dean when you felt a tug on your dress. looking down, colt peered up at you with a toothy smile. dean scooped him into his arms, “hey, buddy. how do you feel about being a big brother?” colt shrugged and laid his head on dean’s shoulder. 

you and dean laughed, “i’m sleepy.” colt yawned. “yeah, me too, pea.” you laid your head on dean’s other shoulder and sighed. 

you were lucky to have someone like dean. someone who made you feel safe and secure. someone who, even on your worst day, looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars. someone who loved you for the person you were and not what you looked like. you couldn’t wait to experience the rest of your life with dean winchester, the man who cherished you deeply.

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Dean stood outside of the electronic doors and looked up at the giant neon sign. He grumbled at the prospect of entering the dreaded store with its giant aisles and fluorescent overhead lights. Why he couldn’t just grab the necessities from the gas station near home was beyond him. Not like he never had to do a supply run for someone sick before. Plenty of times he had to do this for Sammy when they were kids. Why she insisted on making him go to this horror show just for some simple things baffled him. But yet, the image of the girl he loved, back in the bunker laid up alone and wallowing in germs gave him the final push he needed to take a step forward, triggering the doors to open.

He grabbed a basket and instantly felt lost and slightly intimidated. Looking around he took the first few hesitant steps towards the endless aisles in front of him. She gave him a list, but he thought it looked pretty sparse of any of the good stuff he used to get Sam. Where were the cans of Chicken & Stars soup… the marshmallow fluff… the boxed mac and cheese? All she asked him to get was oranges, Nyquil and Gatorade. 

“Not even a box of Saltines?!” he mumbled incredulously, looking at the paper again and shaking his head.

He started by the produce and found the oranges. Piled high on a display, he absently grabbed the first two his hand touched. A quick avalanche of citrus began rolling down the sides. In a panic, he dropped the basket and caught most before they crashed to the floor. Looking around to see how much attention he gained, he sighed when he realized no one saw. Carefully, Dean placed the oranges back and silently prayed they would stay put. 

Snatching his basket and quickly walking away, Dean bypassed most of the home goods aisles until he found himself boxed in by a display of everything you would need to make smores at home. Dean’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed one of each, tossing them into the basket, and moving along down towards the cereal. A box of Lucky Charms caught his eye, and he added it to his basket before nodding in satisfaction.

“This is what I’m talking about,” he muttered with a satisfied grin and continued through the aisles, feeling better about his trip to the big box store. 

Rounding the corner, his attention was in looking up at the sign for the next aisle. He was hoping the cans of soup would be there somewhere when suddenly the hard bump of a shopping cart rammed straight into his side. 

“Excuse you, son!” an older, gray-haired woman admonished as Dean’s box of Lucky Charms went tumbling out of the basket thanks to the collision.

“S-Sorry--” he stuttered, bending down to pick up the box and wrinkled his nose at the narrowed eye expression she was giving him. 

She looked into his basket and shook her head. “This generation… can’t even shop for a proper meal,” she mumbled as she moved along her way. 

“I hate these places,” he groaned. “Why couldn’t I just go to the Gas n Sip. Coulda got all this there…”

Two aisles later, Dean found the cans of condensed Chicken & Stars soup that was a sure-fire way to get her to feel better. Any time Sam had been sick, Dean would get all the essentials, soup included, making Sammy better in no time. If Dean was feeling fancy, he would crumble the saltines on top and Sam would think it was the best thing in the world. Smiling at the memory, he tossed a few into the basket then went on to find the sports drinks she asked for. 

The last item on her very shortlist was the Nyquil. She said it would help her sleep off whatever germs were making her feel like death. He had no doubt that it would, but she would also need sustenance; hence the variety of heavily processed foods he was lugging around in the basket. Half paying attention to where he was wandering, Dean found himself in unfamiliar territory. Thinking he was somewhere near the meds, he began to examine some of the boxes on the shelves. 

As he scanned the boxes and tubes in front of him and read the words like ‘Vagisil’ and ‘Summer’s Eve’ his head snapped up and he took a step back. Realizing he was in the feminine hygiene aisle, he quickly turned on his heel and stepped lively towards where he took a wrong turn. 

“Wrooong aisle,” he said with a nervous laugh just as he nearly ran into the same old lady he did before. 

“You lost, son?” she asked, relishing in the uncomfortable expression he wore. 

“I… um… Nyquil?” he stammered.

“One more aisle over,” she replied with an exasperated huff. “Guess this generation can’t read, either.”

Dean held back all the comments that swirled through his mind and continued on to the correct aisle, biting his tongue as he went. Finding the requested item, Dean took a moment to try and discern which variety she would want. Finally plucking the bottle of neon green liquid from the shelves, he then noticed a variety of other things he thought she may need but didn’t ask for. Stuffing the basket full, he felt a raw sense of satisfaction as he examined all the things that were nearly overflowing from it and headed towards the front of the store.

Once Dean finally made it to the checkout. He lined up all of his goodies on the belt and watched as the clerk—Keith, who’s name tag was overshadowed by a giant pin that read, ‘Be Patient with Me! I’m New!’—studied each item slowly, looking for the bar code to rake across the scanner. Dean’s impatience grew with each painstakingly snail-like pass of an item over the register, the resounding beeeep that followed chipping away at the last of his patience. 

By the time the pimply-faced teenage clerk picked up the box of tissues, then Lucky Charms, Dean heard him snicker under his breath.

“Sick kid at home?” he asked. “My mom used ta buy this shit for me when I was sick.”

Dean flashed a fake but polite smile. “Girlfriend. And she’s waiting for me, so can we speed this along, a little, please?”

“Girlfriend?” Keith snorted again just as he passed the last item, a jar of marshmallow fluff over the red laser light then held it up, shaking it in a mocking fashion. “What is she, twelve?”

Dean snatched it from his hand, threw it in the bag, and did it all with a glare of his intense green eyes. One that made Keith assume would result in his death should he speak another word. 

Continuing to stare down the very young and very nervous cashier, Dean averted his eyes for just a moment, to see a small, plush little teddy bear holding a heart and a miniature mylar ballon, also decked out in hearts, sitting on the top of Keith’s register. Making intense eye contact with Keith, Dean reached out, and added it to the belt and stared the kid down until he finally scanned it, then placed it in the bag. 

The small bit of fear reflected in Keith’s expression was enough to calm Dean’s annoyance. “Buddy,” he said, as he relaxed his gaze as he drew out his wallet, looked at the final tally, and slapped down the total amount in cash, “let me tell you something. When you finally get the opportunity to touch a woman--something I assume is still years away for you--and you find the woman that makes you realize that it's all worth fighting for... A trip to the grocery store to get her everything she could possibly need is the easiest thing in the world to do. Even if it means dodging old ladies and Vagisil. Alright?”

Keith could only nod and wait until Dean gathered his few bags up before taking the cash that resided on the metal table beyond the register. 

The cool air hit Dean’s face as he exited through the second set of automatic doors that led to the parking lot. Throwing the bags on the floor of the Impala, he slid behind the wheel and smiled a soft, thoughtful smile. It was something he did every time he was about to head home knowing she was there, without even realizing he was doing it. 

Back at the bunker, she was curled up in the fetal position in the bed she shared with Dean; head pounding and a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Though she were freezing internally, the fever that raged told her body to both sweat and shiver at the same time. Praying Dean would return soon with the few necessary items, she tried to reposition herself on the bed so she could drink water before falling back down to the mattress, exhausted.

The flu, or whatever it was infesting her, had taken its toll. She had been down for two days, and not able to do much more than lay in bed. Sam had left on a hunt a few days prior, and Dean was doing his best to make sure she had what she needed while still sending Sam support for the job at hand. 

Off in the depths of the halls, familiar sounds of footsteps were coming closer. Hoping it was Dean, she did her best to push the sweaty remnants of hair aside and adjust the t-shirt she wore, so she didn’t look as bad as she thought she did. The faint knock at the door made her look up and call out for them to come in, but the dryness of her throat protested, sending her into a coughing fit.

The door opened, Sam was coming in to check on her, but stopped in his tracks and covered his face with his hand when he saw how sick she really was. 

“Whoa. What the hell happened to you? When I left you had the sniffles,” he said, his voice muffled through his fingers. 

“The flu happened,” she rasped in reply between coughs.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Getting supplies. I hope... He’s been gone a while. Probably because I asked him to go to the actual store. Not the gas station.”

Sam laughed and nodded. “I’m sure he’s having quite the adventure. Alright, let me go see what we got in the kitchen in the meantime. You really do look like crap.”

“Gee. Thanks. Didn’t realize,” she muttered sarcastically before finally falling back to the mattress.

In the kitchen, Sam pulled out a variety of ingredients and was happy to realize he could make what he intended without having to make a supply run of his own. The soup he threw together was simmering, filling the kitchen and surrounding hallways of the bunker with a delicious aroma by the time Dean made it home. 

Dropping the bags on the table, Dean watched his brother curiously for a moment as he slipped the jacket from his shoulders. 

“What’s that?” he asked, peering over Sam’s much taller shoulder. 

“Soup. Or did you not notice the Ebola situation going on in your room?”

“I got her soup. Along with everything else she needs to get better,” he replied, rolling his eyes behind Sam’s back. 

Without turning around, Sam replied, “Let me guess. Chicken and stars, marshmallow fluff and saltines.”

“Yeah… but also Nyquil, oranges, and Gatorade,” Dean retorted with an incredulous snort but left out the part where they were her suggestions. “But, yeah, I absolutely got some other necessities. Hey, don’t knock it, they always worked for you.”

“They worked for me because after you turned around and left, I would sneak down to the closest store and get actual medicine and real soup.”

“Real--Sam… this IS real. Just add water, heat, and stir.”

Sam shook his head and turned back to the stove. “My point is, she cannot live and get better off fluff, alone. Go give her the meds and a Gatorade, this will be ready soon.”

Dean silently mocked his brother’s instructions and grabbed the bag with the few things she specifically asked for, along with a few other things he thought she may want. By the time he reached their shared bedroom and cracked the door open, he was relieved to see that she was sleeping peacefully. Her hair was sweaty and pushed back from her face which was still flush with fever, but it didn’t stop him from leaving a sweet kiss against her head. 

Placing the bag aside, he retrieved the foul-smelling medicine and poured her a shot in the enclosed cup before gently shaking her awake. As she started to come around, he readied the bottle of Gatorade so she could easily take both and then go back to sleep.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he said as she opened her eyes and smiled despite feeling like she’d been hit by a truck.

“Hey…” she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around slightly confused. “Did I see Sam here earlier or was that a hallucination?”

Dean laughed. “He’s here. He’s making you soup.”

“Oh… that’s sweet. Did you grab--”

“I got everything on your list, and then some. But for now, take this…” he handed her the medicine, and then the bottle of fruit punch. “Then, have this.”

She did as told and once both were consumed, she laid back down on the pillow and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Dean. I know going to the store was a pain, but--”

“It was fine. As long as you got what you need.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come back with half the store, honestly.”

“There may or may not be a few more bags in the kitchen. But for now, just get passed this fever, then we can talk about making smores with Lucky Charms.”

“What? Ewe.”

“No, it's good. Trust me. Make ya feel better in no time.”

“Hm, no. I’ll pass, but you knock yourself out,” she giggled and then closed her eyes. 

“You rest, okay? I’ll check on you in a bit. Hopefully, you’ll feel better and look a little less…” Dean trailed off, trying to find a nice way to put it. 

“A little less… what?”

“Well, you sorta look like a shifter that didn’t quite shift all the way. Kinda pale and gooey,” he shrugged, and despite her weakened state, earned him a solid punch in the arm from his girlfriend. 

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, well, you love me,” he winked and stood from the bed. “Oh, I uh, got you a few other things in the bag there. But they can wait. Just get try and get some sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but then with as much energy as she could muster, reached for the bag and looked inside. Pulling out the small bear with the balloon, her eyes found him quickly and he felt a rush of feeling for how she was looking at him. 

“I love it, thank you,” she said and held it close to her. Once she removed the balloon, she burrowed into the covers with the bear and sighed contentedly. Dean bent down to kiss her head again, and before he turned to leave the room, she called out for him. 

“Dean, wait.” Sitting up again, she knew she only had another moment before her head dictated she lay it back down. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but thank you for all you do for me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’d do anything for you. Get some sleep. I’ll check on you soon.”

He waited until she laid back down and quietly closed the door behind him. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he realized she was the one who could potentially domesticate him, the thought of which didn’t scare him the way it would have before. As Dean made his way back towards the kitchen, the only thing that did scare him was realizing he forgot to get any kind of disinfecting spray to bomb the bunker with. Despite how cute she may have looked cuddling the small bear and falling asleep in his bed, he didn’t want anyone else to suffer from her Ebola-like germs.

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

An arrogant chuckle cracks through his teeth and sits on her swollen chest, “the most bewitching of an evening is one with a crescent moon.” He averts his eyes upwards for just shy of a moment before continuing, “and a sorry sap requiring my assistance.” His grimace is barely noticeable with only a sliver of the moon and an ember of a street lamp for light.

She pushes on with an utmost of confidence, “ah, but you see.” With one hand on her hip she traces along his broad shoulders with her fingers as she sways around him. “I could be of assistance to you, as well.”

He deigns a chuckle without opening his mouth and, for the first time, removes a hand from his tailored coats’ pocket to gesture at his disbelief, “me? Need help from you?”

He bellows out a laugh and takes a few steps closer to the graffiti littered wall. With his back to her, he takes in a curt breath of the water stained air. “Oh, please do continue. I could use some entertainment after the abomination that was my day.”

“I can get you the key to Teraw.”

Swiveling around as quickly as she let the words loose, his face freezes sternly. Thick eyebrows and thin lips beseech acquaintance and he is too intrigued to care how she knows what she does. “You may question my ability now, Fergus, but hold your tongue until it’s sitting in your hands.” She straightens up her stance and presses the wrinkles out of her over worn blouse, “the key, that is.”

He wasn’t exactly pleased to be meeting with his former lover, but now she had begun stepping on his last nerve. His curiosity is replaced with annoyance. Filling the gap between them with a micro step he amplifies his height in an attempt to match hers.

“There is nobody that walks this plane, Heaven or Hell that is permitted to call me by that name, Allanah. Even if there were, you would be the exception.”

Any time Allanah could get a rise out of him is a success in her eyes. A mischievous grin grows on her face and she folds her frail arms against herself, “it’s been quite a while since we’ve been in the presence of one another. I guess it must’ve evaded my memory how much you despise your mortal name.”

“Ah, we’re not here to quarrel over history, though are we,” he irately observes with an eyebrow raised an inch higher than its twin. “And what do you request of me?” He steps forward to put forth some much needed distance, “after all, a deal is bi-fold.”

“My appeal is simple, really.” Her boots click on the piece of pavement that remains intact as she paces around him with her fingers entwined. “All you have to do is find the girl. From that point, she will lead you to it.” Her lips move slowly and stay fluent with her provocative expression and posture. It seems like she’d rehearsed this line prior to their alleyway conference.

He squints his eyes, “you mean the hunter?” She was already a point of interest for him, but to this extent he had no idea, nor did he believe it. “A mere human is going to find me the key to another dimension?” His words taste bitter and sound even worse.

Her regularly vacant eyes glimmer in the reflection of flickering lights. She takes a step that is half her length with only one foot in front of the other. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong, Crowley.”

“And to what benefit could you acquire from her?” His voice remains calm.

“Oh honey, my auxiliary don’t even know of my plans,” she says between heartened chuckles.

“And I take it, if you can’t locate her, she must’ve done a cloaking spell of some sorts.”

“Right,” Allanah sighs.

“I see, well, rules are rules. Shall we seal this formally?” He reluctantly inquires.

Truth be told if he had a beating heart it would belong to her. It’d been many silent years since they parted ways, though not for lack of trying. He’d made multiple attempts at reconciliation and, of course, she’d only reached back when she became desperate.

In replacement of a response, she strolls the short distance to close the space between their chests. She almost starts to feel guilty for the way things had ended before when she takes notice of the illumination in his welcoming eyes.

Taking aid from the walls she’d built around her heart, she forces the memories out of her mind and mentally counts to five before planting a reminiscent kiss on his plush, slightly parted lips.

For the sake of theatrics, she drapes her arms upon his shoulders and allows her fingers to travel through his hair. He clasps his hands around her wrists and pulls outwards simultaneous to the retrieval of his lips. The first thing he sees upon opening his eyes is a menacing grin on her generally lovely face, and it sends a twinge down his spine.

“Find the girl, Crowley,” her words slumbering as she coasts down the gravel pathway to the street. “Get the girl, and she’ll take you to the key,” she says turning back just once more to capture his awestruck expression before blending into the darkness.

----

Tossing the shovel to the side, you take in the vibrant energy of the moon from behind you. You are surrounded by trees and dirt paths that lead to their headstones. You don’t feel scared in the presence of graves as you spend a fair amount of time in places people otherwise seem to avoid.

Glancing into the hole you’d just spent hours on, you are startled by the sound of tires hitting the gravel entrance. Before you can hide you hear a disembodied voice bellow out.

“What the Hell do you think you are doing?” The voice is wrapped in a tall, plump man. His uniform is clean for the most part, yet his shoes are a little torn and scuffed up. Only a baton and flashlight sit in his charcoal belt, which means he is presumably unarmed.

It’s been years since you’d run into trouble like this, but thankfully you’re quick on your feet. “Oh no,” you let out a quick breath that masks itself in a chuckle. “I’m sorry,” you say sweetly and reach into your coat pocket with the other hand held up as a white flag. “My name is Maggie Tarnish. I’m with the FBI.”

He’s close enough now that it takes no effort to hand over your slightly used thousand dollar badge. It cost you close to nothing to make, but getting caught with a forged identity card could cost you the next five years and money you don’t have.

After taking a moment to collect your composure, you speak with as much conviction as possible,  “it was brought to my attention that there may have been evidence left behind by my old forensics team.” You let out all of your built up air and finally allow yourself to loosen up a bit, “idjits,” you say, squeaking out a comfortable one-syllable laugh. “The court ordered I exhume the body to retrieve it.”

“Alone?” His head is tilted like a dog would when they hear something unfamiliar, “and why wasn’t this brought to my attention?”

You don’t answer right away. You’ve learned that these kinds of situations are like a time bomb; one wrong move and it could blow up in an instant. You figure the nice act wouldn’t cut it any longer. You don’t have time to stand around talking, anyway!  

Taking another look at his uniform you let out a disdain tainted laugh and inhale sharply, “I’m a strong woman. I didn’t want to waste company income on any more manpower than necessary.” You dig your heels into the dirt as if to give more depth to your words and close yourself off with your arms. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you’re at the bottom of the food chain around here.”

With a fierce tone and your shoulder blades pressed as close to each other as you can force them, you sneer, “let me guess. Three, maybe four, nights a week to drive ‘round ensuring no one robs a grave right? Or to make sure teenagers aren’t vandalizing and telling the homeless they have to sleep somewhere else?”

It really isn’t his fault, your thoughts peak through. He is only trying to do the job he was given.

Fury builds behind his emerald eyes and it becomes easy for you to imagine him with red skin to match the anger. “Do you think that gives you the authority to tell me how or when to do my job? You want to know what my hours are like?” Taking a step closer to him you are seemingly getting lost in your own monologue which only increases the petulance of your tiring lifestyle.

“They are endless and ruthless, but I am protecting and saving people with the work I’m doing. Trying to do, anyway, before you so disrespectfully interrupted me.” With an eye roll your voice grows deeper but not much louder, “lives are at stake here, so please leave the grown up to do her job.” As soon as the last word comes out the graveyard falls back to silence.

“I would like to speak with your supervisor,” his bushy eyebrows raise as he demands rather than asks, “do you have a number I could call?”

Keeping up with the array of confidence, you reach into your duffel bag while attempting to hide its contents. You fumble around for a minute until you find a coffee stained business card printed to represent your falsity, and flick it at him with gall. After having been sucked into a conversation you wanted no part in, you take this moment to get reacquainted with your surroundings.

The overflowing and lustrous moon has moved quite a distance since you first arrived and is now at midpoint in the sky. Easier to see is easier to be seen, you think and have always been proven right by this. You force a quick glance at your watch, confirming both your suspicion and fear. Now, you have about sixteen minutes before this body reanimates.

His voice booms out and shocks you out of your thoughts, “is this some kind of sick joke?”

“What are you talking about?” You slit your eyes in his direction.

“The line is disconnected,” he says with disbelief and followed by a conspicuously pretentious chuckle that soon turns into an intimidating cackle. Typing a new number into his phone, he continues to gloat, “I knew it! I knew you were full of shit.”

“Who are you calling now?”

He looks at you with vaunt in his eyes, “the local authorities.”

Without thinking, you snatch his hand before he can place the phone to his ear and cancel the call. Moving around him with his arm tightened against his back, you wrap your free arm around his neck. Imagining your wrists are magnets, you connect them to apply just enough pressure to keep him alive and unconscious.

Only because you had caught him off guard were you able to subdue a man of his size so quickly, but it still made you feel accomplished. You allow his heavy body to drop just enough to make it easy to drag. Taking turns between watching behind and in front of you, you shuffles him towards the car he arrived in.

You are unable to lift him into the seat without the strength of the second person you’re supposed to have, so instead you prop him against the side of the vehicle and delete the two previously dialed numbers. You pull out a handkerchief to wipe your prints and drop the device into his lap before switching your gaze to survey the Mausoleum and surrounding area for any onlookers.

Hesitantly, you peak a glance at your watch. With only five minutes remaining you run through the terrain being careful not to disturb the other graves. You try to focus on the task at hand, but the only thing running through your mind is a question; why is his line disconnected?

He said he would always answer if you called. With lighter fluid in one hand and a match in the other, you douse the body, set it ablaze and barrel out as quickly as possible.

Sam chuckled and gave some halfhearted attempt at arguing why his choice was better than yours or Dean’s ‘pile of grease’. You responded by taking a piece of the bacon from your burger and plunging it into your mouth unceremoniously.

After the plates were cleared, Dean set off to the bar and ordered his first whiskey of the evening. You and Sam were chatting about a Game of Thrones fan theory you read online and sipping on your respective beers when your eyes drifted to a bottle blonde in a skin tight, barely-below-the-butt-cheek skirt. Of course, you’d never shame or judge a woman for her choice of clothing, often sticking up for them if someone ever got too handy, but even you couldn’t help the wide-eyed stare when she bent over the bar to shout at the bartender.

No sooner did your eyebrows raise were Dean’s shooting to his hairline, swiftly gliding down the bar to chat her up. The shocked expression on your face was quickly replaced with hurt, which you quickly tried to chase away with a clearing of your throat and a swig of your beer. When you set it down back on the wooden table, Sam’s eyes were fixed on you from the opposite booth and a small, sympathetic smile was placed on his lips.

“Shut up, Sam.” You deadpanned.

“Y/n—“

“Sam… please?” You begged.

He nodded his head in understanding, “Okay. I will. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.” He gripped your hand quickly with a couple of pats as Dean’s hand traveled to the hem of Blondie’s skirt and his fingertip traced patterns along her smooth upper thigh. After that, they were quick to retreat out the swinging doors into the parking lot.

It was always the same. Dean left with a girl who looked nothing like you; always between 4-7 inches taller and a good fifteen pounds lighter at least. You chugged the remainder of your beer and swung your legs out of the booth in search of something stronger. A shot of tequila was downed quicker than one would think humanly possible from the time it hit the wood in front of you. An irritated roll of your neck and a stretch of your spine caused your t-shirt to ride up revealing the small of your back. You heard a low whistle from behind you and prepared yourself for the ambush of ‘hey baby’-ies and ‘what’s your sign’-s. Sure, you could go home with another guy; it wouldn’t be the first time, but the act was getting old. You began to hate the feeling of cheap hook-ups in different towns dotted across the country, knowing deep down that they were only there to fill a void—sadly, no pun intended.

A tall man with slight stubble and too much aftershave that did little to cover up the cigarette smell sat on the stool beside you. Accosted with the overly peppery scent, it took all of your will-power to quell the small gag that crept up your throat.

“Where do you come from, darlin’?” the John Doe next to you slurred.

Another shot appeared in front of you. You tossed it back before answering unimpressively, “Mars. I’m an alien.”

He chuckled low in his throat, sending chills up your spine. There was just something about the guy that made your insides do summersaults, it wasn’t from the tequila and it sure as hell wasn’t good. Every instinct told you to sock the guy where he stood, but that would cause too much attention.

“Well, tell me something about yourself, sweetheart.”

Wow. This guy was thick. If it wasn’t visible by the obvious disgust on your face, the slow and methodological move away from him was practically blaring ‘fuck off’ in his general direction.

“Well, don’t be so secretive kitten. I just wanna get to know ya.” He purred.

“You want to know something about me, huh? Okay.” You turned towards him; the confidence and irritation that came with your slight buzz flowed through your veins. If he didn’t lay off soon, you’d be out for blood. “How about this hot-shot… I can kill a man with my belt buckle.”

He began to laugh, until he looked at your raised eyebrow and challenging expression, muttering something about you being a crazy bitch.

“Excuse me, who the fu—“you began, only to be interrupted by a loud scuffle.

A rough slap on the creep’s shoulder had him being hauled up by the collar of his jacket, Dean’s fist being on the offensive and dragging him off of his stool.

“What did you just call her?” Dean growled, Sam right behind him.

“Who the hell are you?!” he shouted.

“Doesn’t matter. Now apologize.”

Drunk guy muttered something barely recognizable, but that wasn’t satisfying to you or Dean.

“I couldn’t hear you.” You barked, inching closer to his face.

He paused, looking up to meet your eyes, “… Sorry.”

You nodded to Dean, who yanked whats-his-face by the collar to whisper in his here, “By the way… she wasn’t lying. She really can kill a guy with her belt buckle. Quickly, too. Now get out of here.”

Intoxicated dude-bro stumbled out of the bar and into the night air as you pounded one last shot before turning to Dean, “Thanks.  I had it, though.”

“Oh, I know you did, sweetheart. I never thought you didn’t.”

“What about you? What happened to… uh, whoever-she-was?” you asked, averting your eyes to stare at your now empty shot glass.

“Eh… not my type tonight.” He replied nonchalantly, shoving his hands deep in his jean pockets. “Are you ready to head home?”

The steady flow of tequila flowing through you began to swirl your thoughts heavily. What started as a drink to ease your frustrations had quickly turned into too much. You stumbled slightly before looking to Dean for help, “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

Both of the Winchesters were quick to support you as you trekked to the car, leaning into their sides as Dean tossed Sam the keys.

The cool breeze made you feel clammy and a bit sick. Dean slid into the back seat with you as you quickly scurried in. Maybe three shots after beer wasn’t the best idea. “Beer before liquor, never sicker” you heard your old Aunt’s words ringing in your ears as the boys drove you home.

Dean helped you into the bunker bathroom while Sam went to fetch you a glass of water. Being home in your ‘bubble’ of comfort made you feel better, the fog of the alcohol lifting slightly.

“Ugh.” You said as Dean placed a cold washcloth on the back of your neck. “Too much, too soon.”

“I’ve always said that about you, Y/n.” he chuckled heartily, “You’re always diving in head first.”

“Pfft. Yeah, and look where it got me.” You mumbled, taking the glass of ice water from Sam who quickly retreated back out the door.

You groaned audibly when the coldness hit the back of your throat, only noting then that Dean was staring at you.

“What did you say?” he asked.

You peered up at him from your seated position against the bathroom cabinet. You were sure when you slid down there, but… here you were.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

He crouched down in front of you, swinging his long legs next to yours so he was seated across from you, his weight rested on the palms of his hands. “You can lie all you want, Y/n. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Feeling dizzy, you closed your eyes and leaned your head back exhaustedly. You were sobering up a little, but not nearly fast enough, and at this point, you were mentally and physically drained of the stress of Dean Winchester. You’d been drunk in his presence a million times, but you were now at the point where you couldn’t control it anymore. Your intoxicated mind told you to just let him have it—all of the thoughts you’d been lying about and all of your deepest, darkest secrets.

“Wuddya’ want me to say, Dean? You’re right. I dive right in. Don’t even test the waters; just cannonball right into the deep end. In life, in love—doesn’t matter. I always do it. I do it with hunting, ya know I do. Go in, guns blazing, am I right?”

Dean sat motionless, sensing that you were heading somewhere with this and knowing better than to interrupt you.

You laughed as your head rolled slightly, moving of its own accord and weight. “Did you know the human head weighs eight pounds?” you asked randomly, causing him to don a perplexed look. “It does. And guess what? You’re head is pretty.” You pointed an unsteady finger at his face. “That’s another thing that I’ve just jumped right off the ledge into. Did you know that, Dean-o? I’ve been in love with you forever.” You sort of whisper growled the last note, jerking your body with emphasis but still not opening your eyes. “But it's a lost cause, huh? I know you don’t love me. And what would I expect? I’m not the type of girl you go after… like ever. I’m just me… and no one’s ever gonna love me.”

When you finally opened your eyes to see him scooting closer to you on the floor, his eyes widened and mouth agape, ready to protest. You held up a hand to halt him, shaking your head furiously and much too quickly, “Don’t, Dean. Don’t make up some story about how great I am or any other bullshit, okay? I know I’m not your type, and that’s fine. I don’t wanna be that, not that there’s really anything wrong with it... I like who I am, honestly, but there’s a few things I need to admit to myself.” You paused, looking down to examine your hands and avoid his waiting stare.

Tears threatened to spill as you finally met his gaze and spoke, “I need to stop kissing strangers and pretending they’re you…”